


Against the Windowsills

by shomarus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shomarus/pseuds/shomarus
Summary: Gérard smiles, “I believe her help could be rather useful. In that regard, I suppose I want to get to know her a little better.”“Huh,” she says, and shrugs. “Go ahead. I’m not one to stop you.”He seems surprised at this. “You’re not joking?”“I hardly joke,” Amélie says with a grin. “Besides, it’s better that I give you the go-ahead before you get lured towards her and she ends up leaving you in a puddle of your own expended semen. And it’d be your fault.”





	Against the Windowsills

**Author's Note:**

> vaguely inspired by professor marston and the wonder women :)c
> 
> thank you for reading!

They’ve done this dance hundreds and thousands of times.

Gérard sits at his desk, sifting through his notes and Amélie watches him from the windowsill, clipboard comfortably sitting at her lap. The kind of nerve he displays shows before the turn of a new semester is laughable in the cutest of ways, and Amélie can’t help but to find it quite endearing.

“It’s not like your material changes much from year to year,” Amélie says with a small grin. Gérard turns around to look at her and sighs, though she notices the familiar twitch of his lips tugging into a smile of his own. “You’ve not a thing to worry about.”

“I’m not nervous,” Gérard replies, turning back around to fiddle with more of his notes. “I am… Excited! Yes. New students, new sights. Keeps the mind fresh!”

Amélie rolls her eyes, looks through her own set of papers. She’d been working—or had worked on, rather— a set of research papers that had yet to see approval from higher academia. Because, what… they refused to give her a fucking PhD? It’s a damn shame she’d already applied thrice and had been rejected just as often. Frankly, it was bullshit. Her eyes glanced to Gérard once more. “Have you checked the mail yesterday?”

Gérard doesn’t miss a beat, “I have. Still nothing.” He puts the papers down and leans up against the desk. “ _Quelle connerie_ ,” he offers with a frown. Amélie sets down her own papers on the windowsill and strolls over towards towards him.

“I’m more competent than half the faculty here. Hell, I’m more competent than even you, and yet with the way I’m treated around here, I may as well be one of the damn students.” Amélie’s hands run through her hair before they find themselves at Gérard’s sides.

If nothing else, Gérard knows when to take the piss. He leans down, kisses her forehead, and Amélie reciprocates happily. “When I get my damned doctorate and that paper gets published, I’ll get the recognition I deserve and _then_ they’ll regret it,” she whispers, pressing a long kiss to the stubble on his jaw. Gérard laughs and she moves down to his neck, though that’s when he halfheartedly attempts to push her off.

“Classes start in five minutes, my love.” She can hear the smile in his voice and half considers continuing, but Amélie knows that wouldn’t exactly be the best introduction to their class. She pulls away with a flourish and a wink, revels in the refined snicker that Gérard gives. “What a minx you are.”

“You’ll find that you’re most of my impulse control,” Amélie says with a laugh of her own, retreating to her place on the windowsill. “For a man with much less restraint than you would have found himself banned from half the universities in the state, many times over.”

The students pile into the room one by one, sometimes in clusters and sometimes in lines. Amélie makes notes of some of the faces she sees in the crowd—a shrewd woman with wild hair and eyes that pierce steel, a young man with a soft face and a softer smile. She profiles them accordingly; the woman is a workaholic who will likely end up being top of the class, she can see it in the way she looks at the other students. As for the man? Amélie is all but certain he’d simply stumbled into the wrong department. Biology suits not a man like that. She thinks of the fine arts center, wonders if it is rude to point him in the other direction.

Then there’s the more faceless students, the ones with no particular personality who shuffle by. Amélie has also grown quite accustomed to the average Joe who finds themselves in their care. Largely unremarkable, but she knows that Gérard will find the good in each and every one of them. He’s the only person she knows who takes the time to learn each of their names, genuinely and personally.

He’s good like that.

When the students have all taken their assigned seats, Amélie takes one last scan of the crowd. Gérard, in the meanwhile, clears his throat and begins his seminar.

“ _Salut!_ ” He greets them with an unexpected amount of loudness. Some of the students even jump. “I am Gérard Lacroix, and I will be your professor for the duration of this semester.” He speaks as he scribbles his name across the blackboard and points to it when he is finished. “If you will look to your right, you will notice the ever-talented and oh-so-beautiful Amélie Guillard Lacroix. Not only if she my lovely wife, but she is also my associate and assistant. She will be the one in charge of your homework, so do treat her quite well!”

The students look to her, some of them giggling along with Gérard’s poor excuse for a joke. She notices one of the students refuses to look at her, and instead of simply shifting focus… she tries catching her gaze. Alas; her eyes are hidden under thick strands of blonde and she seems more than happy to stare down at Gérard. Amélie huffs, looks outside the window.

It’s a standard seminar for a standard class, all taught and witnessed by standard folk. Amélie spends the time by perusing the finer details of her work, occasionally stopping to reply to one of Gérard’s japes with a quip of her own.

“Ah, before I let you go,” Gérard begins, just as the students start packing their items, “Amélie, if you will?”

She’s confused for just a moment, wondering just what it is Gérard is asking of her. Then she remembers, and she stands up, takes her place next to him. “Me and Professor Lacroix are currently looking to hire a research assistant. If you find yourself so inclined, please add your names to the sign-up sheets outside the door.”

Soon enough, they are left alone again.

“See? Went well enough,” Amélie says with a smile. Then she starts walking out of the room, beckoning Gérard to follow her. “Come, I hid the wine in the beakers again.”

“Again!” Gérard yells back, incredulous. Like he can’t fucking believe Amélie would do something like that. She grins. “You’re not supposed to drink in a private institution under the guise of an assistant, _ma belle!_ ”

“Watch me!”

 

 

They always eat out in the courtyard, on the steps to the school. Gérard likes to watch the students from a distance, sees what Amélie has to say about each one of them. “That young miss over there,” he says, jabbing his thumb in the direction of a spunky woman out playing rugby with some of the men.

Amélie studies her for a moment, sits back. “Energetic to the point of annoyance,” she replies. “It’s all a front, of course. Nobody is actually that energetic in this stage of the game, but she can pretend all she likes. Ah. She doesn’t play the way other women do, so the men playing with her are twice as determined to defeat her. Alas…” She trails off, right before the woman in question spikes the ball into the torso of some poor whelp.

Gérard points out another student to her, “That one?”

“Sensitive,” Amélie says, almost immediately. “Not rudely, of course. But you can see how uncomfortable she is. See how he’s touching her? How she immediately recoils? She’s not used to such activity all around her. Buzzing, flickering, alive yet so invariably annoying. Yet she must sit there and bear it because she chose to live this way.”

“You should have become a psychology professor,” Gérard remarks. “You read people well.”

“Ha! If biology is hard to get into, then psychology is worse. I should have been an actress, maybe,” Amélie replies with a shrug. “You need to learn to read your characters well. Get into that sort of headspace. An interpretive dancer, perhaps? I’ve always quite liked ballet. Anyways, you haven’t asked me about that one.”

Gérard raises an eyebrow, “Which one?”

“The blonde woman, over there,” Amélie says, pointing her out. The same woman who had refused to look at her was now laying on one of the blankets, idly chatting up a friend. “Don’t act as though you hadn’t noticed her. I was going to give you about five more seconds until you started _drooling_ over the poor thing.”

“I wasn’t going to drool,” Gérard protests with a roll of the eyes. “It’s not that to begin with. She signed up become our research assistant, and she’s promising.” He pauses and adds, “Beautiful.”

Amélie snorts disbelievingly. “Yes, and that’s exactly why she’s so interesting. Because her beauty attracts the attention of men like _you_ , it’s a curse. Look at her now, attempting to divert the likes of the other men around her,” she waves her pen around and points, “How she never holds his gaze, because if she makes the mistake of showing what could be perceived interest, he’ll begin to pursue her. And then when she inevitably rejects him, she becomes a slut.”

“You speak from experience?”

“Common knowledge in the world of women,” Amélie replies with a shrug, leaning back into the steps. “I count my every lucky star that you’re not like that.” It’s said almost sarcastically, though Amélie’s grin hints at a touch of tenderness.

Gérard smiles, “I believe her help could be rather useful. In that regard, I suppose I want to get to know her a little better.”

“Huh,” she says, and shrugs. “Go ahead. I’m not one to stop you.”

He seems surprised at this. “You’re not joking?”

“I hardly joke,” Amélie says with a grin. “Besides, it’s better that I give you the go-ahead before you get lured towards her and she ends up leaving you in a puddle of your own expended semen. And it’d be your fault.”

“What hyperbole,” Gérard replies, rolling his eyes. “You wouldn’t be jealous?”

“No, if you could believe it. I already said I wouldn’t stop you, yet you continue to hesitate.”

Gérard looks off into the distance. Amélie gauges the expression resting on his features, faraway and remote. “It’s because I care about you. I respect you.”

“More than what I can say for most other men in this institution. Most men I’ve met, actually.” Amélie stretches her limbs out and stands. “I’m off to the lab again, see if I’ve missed anything. You can keep gawking at her, _mon beau._ ”

“Have fun.”

Amélie leans down to give him a small peck on the cheek. “Yes, of course. And you, don’t be so obvious about your affections. It’s one thing for me to notice, it’s a whole other thing entirely for your employer to notice, non?”

And with that notice, she is gone, a small feeling of unease washing up over her.


End file.
